


now look through my eyes

by capebretons



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Mo Adopts A Baby!, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capebretons/pseuds/capebretons
Summary: Mo bought a baby.Well, realistically, Mitch knows more went into it than that. Like, this baby wasn’t being advertised in some boutique in the mall, and Mo didn’t look at it in the window for a bit, deciding, before going in, and dropping a cool $49.99 on it. Nope. Mo had been on the phone with a woman from an agency, and had probably done a few interviews, and then had to prove he could raise a child in his not-awful apartment. And then he bought Hayden.(Or: Mitch never really thought he'd feel like this.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place a few years in the future, so Mo's about twenty-seven, and Mitch is about twenty-four.

Mo bought a baby.

Well, realistically, Mitch knows more went into it than that. Like, this baby wasn’t being advertised in some boutique in the mall, and Mo didn’t look at it in the window for a bit, deciding, before going in, and dropping a cool $49.99 on it. Nope. Mo had been on the phone with a woman from an agency, and had probably done a few interviews, and then had to prove he could raise a child in his not-awful apartment. And then he bought Hayden.

Hayden Ella Rielly is a little over one year old. She’s got chubby, pink cheeks, and blonde hair, and big brown eyes. Ella was the name her mom gave her, and from what Mitch has gathered, that mom was only a few years younger than Mitch, in her second year at UOttawa and not at all ready for Ella. So Ella became Hayden, and Hayden became Mo’s. 

“I thought you were gonna get a dog,” Gards says, voice blank, but Hayden’s already in his lap, grabbing at his sweatshirt and giggling. Mitch cannot stop staring. Mo bought a baby.

“Not quite,” Mo says, and his voice is rough, and that’s probably because he’s exhausted. Babies make people tired, or at least, that’s what Mitch has been told. Ekblad has a baby, now. Mitch has seen a few pictures on Instagram. Connor always comments an emoji — it’s usually the monkey. Mitch has no idea why he’s thinking about that now, though, because  _ Mo bought a baby. _

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Bozie’s saying, staring at Hayden with a big, dumb look on his face. Mitch can’t imagine he looks any better.

Mo shrugs, and goes to pick Hayden up. Gards hands her off easy, because he’s never been a Baby Person, but Mo — Mo’s always been good with kids. “I don’t know. I knew you guys would worry.”

“You’re young,” Bozie says, concerned, which is only funny because Mo’s not all that young, really. Mo is twenty-seven, and he’d wanted a baby. This is funny. This is not funny at all. Mitch starts laughing, and everyone’s looking, and that makes Mitch laugh even harder.

“I know,” Morgan says easily, and fits Hayden on his hip like he’s done it before. Belatedly, Mitch realizes that he most definitely has, because that’s his daughter. (Christ, Morgan Rielly is a father.) “But I’ve wanted this for a long time. And she’s not going anywhere.”

He’s being uncharacteristically quiet, words low and hushed, while Hayden reaches up to his cheek. She slaps him, kind of, not remotely hard enough to hurt, and he grins. And Mitch’s heart does this weird, clenchy thing, and it’s not like, a  _ Mo _ thing, it’s a baby thing. Mitch is a Baby Person, too.

“Well, didn’t she just win the fucking lottery,” Auston says, over speakerphone. Mo had gathered all the team at his apartment for this announcement, just like he’d done last year, when he’d gotten the C. But Auston had still been a Maple Leaf last year. He’d been a Maple Leaf a few weeks ago, too, until suddenly he wasn’t. (Auston Matthews, Dallas Star, is still such a weird concept to Mitch Marner.) And it hadn’t felt right, meeting without him, so Willie had put him on speakerphone. “Getting adopted by the captain of the Toronto Maple Leafs. What a life.”

“Don’t curse around the baby,” Mitch hears himself saying, and everyone laughs, but Mitch doesn’t really think he was kidding.

That’s not to say he disagrees with Auston, though. Not at all. Yeah, Hayden’s about to have baby Yeezys and the most baller Barbie Dreamhouse on the block, but Mo’s got a lot of love to give. This kid’s gonna be  _ so _ loved. Mitch is almost jealous.

He looks up once, quick enough that he’s not staring, at Hayden in Mo’s arms. She’s tugging on his ear now, and he’s looking down at her like she’s made of spun gold, and Mitch needs to go lie down. Mitch isn’t sure anybody’s ever looked at him like Mo’s looking at Hayden. If they ever did, Mitch thinks he might crumble apart.

The guys head out, one by one. They all give Hayden a pat on the head and a kiss on the cheek before going back to their own families, their girlfriends and their babies and their dogs. Mitch stays behind, cleaning up Solo cups and throwing away paper plates, because Mo’s got his hands full of a daughter nobody knew about, and Mitch’s gotta come to terms with that.

Zach and Connor are the last to leave, sitting on the floor with Mo’s dog, because they’re supposedly afraid that Maggie’s getting overshadowed by the new addition. But Maggie is so fucking old that Mitch isn’t really even sure if she cares, or really even knows what’s going on. But she gets a few tummy rubs, and the spot behind her ear gets scratched, and then it’s just Mo and Mitch and now Hayden, who’s yawning a little, head flopping on to her dad’s shoulder.

Mitch jerks his head back to the direction of the kitchen.

“Stop looking at her like that,” Mo says, and Mitch flinches before he looks back at Mo, and Mo’s only grinning, and Mitch is still freaking out. “Seriously. She’s not a child of the corn. I don’t think, at least. I’ve only had her for a couple weeks. In all honesty, she might be.”

Morgan has had a daughter since the last time Mitch flossed. Mitch should floss more, probably, but the point stands. This is new. This is really new.

“Sorry,” Mitch says, too quiet. “It’s not — I’m really happy for you. And she’s really cute.”

“She is,” Mo agrees, easy, and presses a kiss to the top of her head. “And she’s smart, and she’s funny, and she thinks I’m funny. Which is really all that matters.”

“Everyone thinks you’re funny,” Mitch smirks, and gathers up a balled-up napkin somebody left on the coffee table. “She’s not special.”

“She’s very special,” Mo laughs quietly. “You’re just jealous.”

“Of your baby?” Mitch laughs, a little bit louder.

Mo shrugs. “Hayden’s cooler than you.”

“Hayden doesn’t know her dad’s a dork.”

“I think she does, though.”

“Can she talk yet?”

“She’s got ‘mama’ nailed.”

Mitch’s can’t help his laugh. “She calls you mama?”

“Sometimes it’s mommy _.  _ She’s not picky like that.”

Mitch is grinning too big. “Oh, I wish she’d called you mommy when everyone was still here.”

Mo scoffs, shifting Hayden higher up on his hip. “She’d never. Unlike some of you, she was born with a sense of decorum. She’s got  _ tact, _ Marner. You could learn something from my one-year-old.”

Mitch grins again. “Oh, thank God. I’d thought you’d be the kind of parent to—”

“Excuse me, my sixteen-month-old.”

“Yep, there it is.”

Mo laughs easily, and Hayden picks her head up from his shoulder, blinking around sleepily. Mo’s smile goes to something softer, kinder, and he kisses her forehead before saying, gentle, “Time for bed, huh?”

“Bed,” Hayden says, soft but sure, and Mitch’s heart does the clenchy thing again, and it doesn’t have to do with that quiet, awed look on Mo’s face at all.

  
  


“So that killed you,” is the first thing Auston says when Mitch calls him, back at his own apartment. 

“A  _ child, _ ” Mitch is so close to screaming. “It’s like he knows. Does he know? Does he look himself in the mirror every morning and wonder how close he can push me to the edge?”

“Doubtful,” Auston says, the picture of unaffected, but Mitch knows he is very much affected. Auston doesn’t really like babies, not like Mitch does, and that awful video of the two of them with Kanon is still brought up whenever Mitch offers to babysit for Matt and Sydney. “Is the baby cute? I still haven’t seen a picture.”

“Yeah, because whenever someone shows you a baby picture, you say  _ it’s cute,  _ like, you actually call their child an  _ it, _ so—”

“That happened one fucking time, and I—”

“It has happened  _ four _ times—”

“Live and let die, Marns,” Auston says, the epitome of chill, and this is where Mitch would smack him in the arm, if he still lived here. “Send me a picture of the baby.”

“I don’t have one,” Mitch says, walking into his bedroom. The bed’s messy and the room is cold, and Mitch has never been more acutely aware of the fact that he lives alone.

“How do you not have a picture?” Auston’s voice is tinny through the iPhone speaker. Auston is very, very far away. “You were just with it.”

“IT,” Mitch screeches, accusing, and Auston’s saying something like _fucking shit_ that’s barely heard under Mitch’s laughter. “No, of course I don’t have a fucking picture. What was I gonna do? Whip out Snapchat and take a hundred pictures of the kid that Morgan Rielly has kept so quiet that _Jake Gardiner_ didn’t even know—”

“Okay, chill,” Auston says, slow and calm. “It’s just a baby. He’s gonna be the same guy, on ice, and he’s still gonna be your friend, and he’s still gonna be your captain and you’re still gonna have to figure out how you’re gonna deal with—”

“My giant fucking crush on him?” Mitch finishes, rubbing at his eyes with his fist. “Yeah. I know.”

Auston sighs, and Auston is far away, and Mitch misses his best friend. “I’m sorry. I wish I could be there.”

“Me, too,” Mitch sighs, tired. “How’s camp?”

Auston exhales, slow and deep. Mitch winces. “It’s fine. I have no friends.”

“Not even remotely true,” Mitch blurts. “I saw you and Cecconi on your Snapchat yesterday. Quit lying.”

“I think I just like him because he’s American,” Auston says, only making fun of himself, and it makes Mitch kind of sad.

“You’ll be fine,” Mitch says softly. “It’s always tough being the new kid.”

“Yeah,” Auston says, easy, which means he’s done talking about this. “Hey, send me a picture of Hannah Rielly.”

“Hayden.”

“Hailey?”

“Fuck yourself, Matthews.”

“Oh, it’s coming to me. Hazel. Haven? Oh, is it Harambe?”

  
  


Mitch used to be into Auston. He’s pretty sure that was obvious. He remembers getting a text from Dylan Strome, his rookie year, a picture of him and Auston with Bozie’s baby with the caption  _ be gayer.  _ And Dylan’s not exactly great at picking up on subtlety. So. Yeah. Pretty obvious, Mitch being into Auston. A given, probably.

And he’d told him, too, the night after their last game of their rookie season, because he didn’t want Auston going back to Arizona not knowing. And Auston had looked at him, gentle but not pitying, and let him down easy. Their friendship, thank God, was unscathed, but Mitch’s ego wasn’t, and he’d just kind of wallowed around Toronto, moping, before Morgan asked him what was wrong.

(To be a little more specific: he and Mo got drunk the night before Mo was going to drive home to Vancouver, Mo’d asked him why he seemed so upset, Mitch told him, Mo promised him there’d be other Austons, and Mitch ended up in Mo’s bed.)

Mo hadn’t been Mitch’s first, but he was definitely Mitch’s best.

Mo had been apologetic in the morning, promising it was just A Weird Thing, and Mitch had nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly, and they both promised to never, ever bring it up again, and then Mo drove across the country.

Mitch stayed in Toronto, and the city reminded him of Mo. 

That had been four years ago, and Mitch has dated other people since then. Two very nice girls, one very nice boy, and Mo has remained. Auston calls it a crush, but Mitch thinks it’s probably something a little extra. Which is fine. Seriously. It’s just — it’s really hard not to overanalyze a one-night-stand, right? Especially when it’s Mo. Mo, who Mitch sees every single day, nine months out of the year, who still looks cute when he’s missing a tooth, who looks even cuter with his baby girl snoozing on his chest. 

Mitch is doing great, thanks for asking.

  
  


The season picks up fast, same as always. The Leafs aren’t really good or bad, which is near-shocking to everyone who thought Auston leaving would take away all their talent. Mitch knows it probably doesn’t help to be down a centerman, but they got a few good draft picks in the next couple of years, and his team has always liked young people. Nothing’s changed there.

So, apart from Auston’s absence, nothing really feels all that different. Mitch still gets dinner with Matt and Sydney, still plays video games with Willie, still tries to see his parents once a week. It’s getting colder in Toronto, and Mitch likes it that way. He can bundle himself up, tight under scarves and coats and toques, and he can walk down Church Street and pretend he’s just like all those other people, walking hand-in-hand with their respective boyfriends. Allowed to be hand-in-hand with their respective boyfriends.

Mitch isn’t out, not really. The team knows, just because they’d met Graham during the last off-season and Graham had introduced himself as Mitch’s boyfriend because why wouldn’t he? And Mitch had made this awful squeaking noise, and Graham had been embarrassed, and the whole team had apologized for asking where his girlfriend was all these years, and Mitch hadn’t really ever lived it down. And Mitch doesn’t talk about it enough for it to be casual. So — well. He guesses he’s out, kind of.

He and Graham didn’t hold hands all that much. Only in the privacy of Mitch’s living room, the TV glowing with some ESPN 30-for-30 playing too quiet. Graham had played lacrosse in high school. He had hands meant for gloves. Not meant for Mitch, though.

Graham had come to a few games, and stayed up in the box with all the girlfriends. He was tall and hot and had dark eyes, and he wanted Mitch a lot. But Mitch was only twenty-one, and he was still scared of media and opinions and other people in general, and it couldn’t have lasted any longer than it did.

He’s not scared anymore, he’s just — he’s done wasting his time. Twenty-four’s when you’re supposed to start pulling yourself together, right?

  
  


“Your baby is mad cute,” Auston’s saying to Mo, on the floor of Mo’s apartment. Hayden is pulling herself up by the coffee table, and she expects applause every time she does it. It’s really kind of funny, actually, because — and Mitch would never say this out loud, not around Mo — but it’s just  _ standing. _ Mitch stands every day. On ice, too.

“She’s okay,” Mo shrugs, but it doesn’t even work a little bit, because he’s fucking beaming. He’s never more than a foot away from her, sitting next to her on the floor while she does her sit-stand routine. The second she’s up, all three of them clap for her, and she smiles, gummy and happy.

When the media met Hayden, it all got a little crazy. They’d decided that Morgan Rielly was too young, actually, and that he should be more worried about bringing the Cup to Toronto before bringing up his own child.

(“It’s not like he can return her,” Naz had said to some reporter. Then he paused, thinking. “Can he?” And then the headlines had been hilarious.  _ Kadri Unsure of Adoption Regulations: What Does it Mean for Playoffs?) _

But things have settled down a little, turned over to their upcoming game against the Stars. Auston coming back was always going to be a headline, and he’s happy to take some of the attention. It’s not like he’s missed it, really, but they’re all a little done with the media’s opinions on Hayden Rielly. Auston’s happy to take some of the spotlight if it means Hayden can teeth in peace.

She’s doing it now, her mouth all over Mo’s fingers, and Mitch doesn’t think he’s ever seen him happier. Happy is a good look on Morgan Rielly. And Mitch isn’t sure he’s seen it in a while, and that’s kind of fucked up, actually.

“Why now, though?” Auston’s saying, looking at Hayden with mild fascination. “Like, I get that you’re old now—”

“Why are you like this, Matthews—”

“But why wouldn’t you wait for someone?” Auston finishes, easy and simple, even though this is anything but.

Mo balks, visibly, and Mitch winces. 

Mitch never told Auston that he’d actually slept with Mo. It had just — it’d never seemed like the right thing to do. Mo had seemed somewhere between mortified and terrified, and Mitch had taken that hint, no problem. And he might’ve been a little bit more offended by that, he thinks, if Mo had treated him any differently afterwards. So it’s not a  _ Mitch _ thing. But it’s — it’s a thing.

“Didn’t feel the need to,” Mo says, regaining himself almost quickly enough that no one might’ve noticed. “Or, well — I put myself on this waitlist, and the lady at the agency was telling me that it would probably be a few years until I could adopt, but then Hayden came out of nowhere, like a few months later, and. Yeah. That’s the whole story.”

“That’s the whole story,” Auston repeats, a crooked little something on his lips, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

Hayden chooses that exact moment to ask for dinner, and Auston takes that as his cue to go. He hugs them all once, tight to his chest, and promises to take it easy on them tomorrow night. Awkwardly, he pats Hazel on the top of her head, like she’s a terrier. And then he goes.

The three of them wait until they hear the apartment door latch shut behind him, and Mitch looks at Mo, who’s a little red on the tips of his ears, but unwaveringly focused on Hayden. Mitch looks at them for a little bit longer, and there’s that soft, insistent pang in his chest, and he looks up at the lights on the ceiling, just because he has to.

“You never told him,” Mo says suddenly, slow, practiced. He’s still looking at his daughter, who’s still nibbling on the knuckle of his ring finger.

Mitch’s mouth opens and closes for a bit, but then clears his throat, because he’s well into his twenties but his voice still cracks sometimes. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

Mo looks at him for a minute, and — he looks hollow.

“You didn’t,” and Mo sounds like he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. He closes his mouth, looks back down at Hayden, and sighs. “Okay. Let’s make dinner.”

They do, together. It’s a quiet, symbiotic thing, trading Hayden between arms as Mitch cuts up veggies and Mo stirs the penne. Hayden babbles, and Mitch feeds her a tiny little bite of carrot, which she kind of just mouths on for a little bit. Mitch grins, because she’s actually a pretty cool kid, and kisses the top of her head.

He doesn’t even realize Mo is watching until Mo jerks his head away.

  
  


The first roadie of the December comes faster than it should. They’d been playing a long stretch at home, which had been good, really. Mitch had gone on a Tinder date with a nice girl named Summer who admitted she was a Habs fan, and Mitch spent twenty minutes showing her a video he’d taken that morning of Hayden at the park.

Summer had been less than interested. (He should have given her Auston’s number.)

“Dating with a kid is impossible,” Mitch is saying to Mo as they board a plane to Saint Paul.

“You don’t have a kid,” Mo says, but he’s trying not to smile. Mitch knows him too well. “I have a kid.”

“You have a kid?” Jake exclaims, fake-shocked, somewhere behind them. “Wow. What?”

It’s a dumb joke, and they all laugh, because it’s been done maybe four thousand times this morning, ever since Mo dropped Hayden off at the Komarov’s. Mo may or may not have cried a little — Leo looks vaguely terrified and Mo’s got red eyes. 

“I kind of have a kid,” Mitch says, shrugging, nudging Mo along to their seats in the back. They sit together, since Naz and Jake started bringing their Gameboys on flights, since Auston left. “Hayden sees just as much of me as she sees you.”

“See, now you’re just lying,” Mo says, stopping deliberately, so Mitch walks right into him. “Because you’re not there when she wakes up at three in the morning screaming.”

“What I’m hearing is an invitation to sleep over,” Mitch says, and he’s not thinking, and he’s not thinking, and he’s not thinking.

But Mo grins, lopsided and too happy, and shrugs. “I’ve got a guest room.”

Mo’s stomach is so warm, and he knows he’s blushing, but Mo’s already turning around, talking about how Mitch is totally gonna make him waffles in the morning, and Mitch is going to be totally in charge of potty-training, and Morgan’s life is going to be so much easier.

Mitch is borderline terrified that absolutely none of that sounds awful. 

  
  


They have a strong first period, because they always do. And then they lose, because they always do. It’s 7-3, in the end, and that’s. That’s hard. It’s a quiet bus ride back to the hotel, and this is when Mitch and Auston would split their earbuds and listen to something nice, because it was always the two of them together. It was them from the beginning, when they were nineteen and stupid to hope.

Mitch gets sad after games, sometimes. Auston does, too.

He’s in the elevator with Naz and Mo and a couple of the young guys, nobody really saying much. The door opens with a soft  _ ding,  _ and the younger guys shuffle out, talking low about maybe catching a movie when they’re back in Toronto.

Mitch breathes out, too shaky, and Mo looks at him, sharp.

And Mitch knows Mo’s gonna follow him to his room, and Mitch knows he’s gonna let him.

They don’t say much, really. They drop their bags and sigh, deep, heavy, and Mitch takes his suit jacket off. Mo follows, loosens his tie until it’s completely undone, just looped under his collar. Mitch stares, open and obvious, at Morgan’s hands, and doesn’t bother chiding himself for it. They both know what they did.

Mitch sighs again, falls onto one of the beds. Mo looks at him, just for a minute, and there’s this bare, fond smile there, and Mitch is about to tell him to come lie down, and maybe they can talk, and maybe Mitch can reach out and run his fingers feather-light over Mo’s open palm.

Hands meant for Mitch.

Mo says, and it’s so quiet Mitch strains to hear. “I should go.”

And Mitch, feeling brave with exhaustion, smiles soft, sad, says, “You don’t have to.”

Mo smiles again, wistful. “Yeah, I do.”

And then he goes, and Mitch stays, and Mitch doesn’t sleep for hours.

  
  


They have one game in Chicago, and one game in Detroit, and then they’re home. Mo doesn’t stop by Mitch’s room again, even though he looks like he wants to.

Mitch kind of wants to text Auston about this, but it’s also one of those — one of those weird things. Like, he could tell Auston about what they did, but Morgan Rielly is so unwilling to talk about his sexuality that he had a baby before anybody could ask him why he didn’t have a wife.

And any normal person would take that as it is. Any normal person would let this go. Would have let this go a long time ago.

Mitch goes back to Mo’s apartment the second they touch back down in Toronto. Mo gets home a little bit later, taking a little detour to pick Hayden up from the Komarov’s, and doesn’t look even a little surprised to see Mitch making them dinner. 

Hayden’s exhausted, half-asleep in Mo’s arms, and Mitch aches for them. “Let me see her,” he says, the first real words he’s said to Mo off the ice in a while.

“Yeah,” Mo says, like he means  _ of course. _ The hand-off is easy, and Hayden presses her little head into the warmth of Mitch’s chest, and nothing has ever felt more  _ right. _

“Hey, Hayden,” Mitch says, quiet and soft and  _ so _ in love.

“Hi,” she says, sleepy.

“You wanna go to bed?” Mitch says, presses a kiss to her head. “Bedtime, huh?”

“Yeah,” she says, agreeing. “Bedtime.”

“Bedtime,” Mitch seconds, and looks up at Mo. “I made you a grilled cheese. You eat, I’ll put her to bed.”

Mo doesn’t look grateful; Mo looks absolutely hollowed out. “Okay.”

Mitch leaves the kitchen with Hayden in his arms, and tries not to hurt.

Mitch pads into her nursery, and walks for a bit in wide circles. She likes rhythm, Hayden does. Mo talks, sometimes, about how he’ll get up in the middle of the night to drive her around the block until she gets rocked asleep. She’s pretty much asleep now, anyway. But Mitch likes holding her.

She’s so much of Mo. She laughs like him. 

Mitch puts her down, reluctant and slow. She turns a bit, getting comfortable, and then she’s still, except for the slow up-down of her chest. She’s got one hand clutching at the stuffed polar bear Auston brought her, the weekend after he met her.

“I love you so much,” Mitch says to her, and hopes she hears it.

He stays a little longer, watching her breathe, knowing he looks like an idiot.  _ This is not your baby, _ he thinks to himself, and nothing changes.

  
  


Mo’s not in the kitchen when Mitch finally leaves the nursery. He’s eaten his sandwich, though, and put the plate in the sink. So. That.

Mitch should go. If he cares about himself at all, he should go. He shouldn’t say goodbye. He should — yeah. He’s gonna leave. 

He gathers his coat and his keys, turns off the kitchen lights, heads to the door, when he hears Mo cough.

“You heading out?” And Mo’s standing in the hall, backlit by the light from his bedroom. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and his hair is a mess, and God, Mitch would give him anything in the world. Even after this roadie, he’d give Mo everything.

“I mean,” Mitch says, flat. “Yeah.”

“I thought you were going to spend the night,” Mo says, and it’s not quite hurt in his voice, but it’s close.

“You were serious,” and it’s not even a question.

“Yeah,” and Mo’s offering a smile, hopeful, and Mitch will take it.

“Okay,” Mitch says, and he drops his shit at the door.

Mo comes back into the hall a second later, with sweatpants and a Moose Jaw shirt. Mitch has never felt this weak.

“I know you probably have clothes from the trip,” Mo says, and his voice is soft, and Mitch realizes that this is an apology. “But they’re clean.”

“Thank you,” Mitch says, after a minute. He runs a thumb over the Warriors logo, faded from years and years of wear. When he looks up, Mo’s already looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan says, and his voice is low. “I didn’t handle things very well. I haven’t been handling things very well.”

“There’s nothing to handle,” Mitch says, even though he thinks he might be lying. 

“We never talked about it,” Mo murmurs. “You must have been confused.”

Mitch shrugs. “I guess. But — you know. It was just a weird thing.”

And Mo looks so heartbroken, like Mitch is the one who’s hurting them. “I didn’t want anyone to know. And, and, when you told me about how you felt with Auston—”

“It’s okay, Mo,” Mitch says, but Mitch is crying, and things haven’t felt right in a while.

“I wanted you, okay?” And Mo’s crying too, and the only person in this house who’s not crying is the two-year-old, which is fundamentally wrong. “I don’t want you thinking I didn’t. It wasn’t convenience. It wasn’t just because you’re a guy. It’s — you.”

Mo’s breathing hard, eyes rimmed red, and he’s only looking at Mitch.

“I didn’t think I could have you like this,” he says, and his voice is shaking. “I didn’t think I could have you with my daughter. But you’re here. You’re here. And you make me dinner and you tuck her in and for some reason, you’re still here.”

“I’ve been here,” Mitch says, and his voice is no better. “I’ll be here.”

Mo’s still looking at him, so intense Mitch almost wants to look away. “You’ll be here,” and it’s not quite a statement, not quite a question.

So Mitch has to kiss him. Just so he knows.

And kissing Mo, it’s—

It’s like when you come home after being away forever, and this is the place you know, and this is how it feels, and it’s like safety, it’s knowing the creaks of the floorboards under your feet. And Mitch is falling into his arms, and it’s warm in here, and it’s Mo’s arms around his waist, and it’s Mo’s jaw under his hands, and it’s Mo’s hands reaching up under the fabric of Mitch’s shirt, pressing hot on the small of Mitch’s back. Those are Mo’s hands.

“I’ve missed you,” Mo says, lips brushing against Mitch’s, and Mitch knows.

  
  


Mitch wakes up around four in the morning, because Hayden’s crying. The baby monitor is on Mo’s side of the bed. Mo is not on Mo’s side of the bed.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Mitch pads out into the living room, where Mo’s got Hayden already in her carseat. She’s wrenched up and red in the face, and Mo looks like death incarnate, but when he sees Mitch, he smiles.

“Wanna go for a ride?” Mo whispers.

Mitch smiles at him, tilting his head. “I might fall asleep.”

Mo rolls his eyes, grinning. “Kind of the plan.”

“How are you gonna wake me up when I do?” Mitch says, but he’s already pulling on his coat.

“I won’t,” Mo says. “I’ll carry you upstairs.”

Mitch laughs, low, and follows Mo out the door.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope i did this totally random pair justice.
> 
> (my twitter is @jdrouins, if y'all wanna hang out!)


End file.
